Hot, my god, hot on top of hot, too hot to mow the lawn, and it doesn't matter, anyway, because it's too hot for the lawn to be mown, to dry, too risky, too likely that what'd be left out there would be twigs and kindling. So hot the sedum are wilting. So hot that standing or parking in the shade barely matters. I may have sunburned the Toad in five outdoor minutes in the big box plant section buying flowers, though it's far and away too hot to be potting anything up just now. Too hot to tie up the tomatoes which need tying badly, too hot even to put a beer in the freezer to drink on the porch here once it's quittin' time, because to drink on the porch in this heat would be lunacy. So hot that AMR, she of the reptilian blood, came in from reading outside to read inside. I have never seen her come in voluntarily during the heat. Not one time. It is the second day of June. It is 60ish days until we even see August. I called an HVAC company to ask about the upstairs A/C being unable to keep up and they said, yep, sounds right, and by the by it doesn't much make any difference, because the first they could see me would be at the end of the month, unless I get a full-system flameout. A bartender who lives in the neighborhood said six of his ten barstools were last night sat by persons with failed A/Cs. The gentleman who delivered our pizza Tuesday night said his window unit was crashed. I think the Toad passed out on the way home rather than falling asleep. He is upstairs in the upper seventies having a red-faced nap. This is ice-in-the-kiddie-pool weather. This is frozen margaritas. This is for god's sake do not turn the oven on. This is keep the blinds closed on the sun side of the house. I have found your global warming, you jackass politico science-phobic illiterates, and it is right here in the back yard.